


decent company

by imagines



Series: decent company [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Kings on Ice Zine, M/M, Making Out, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon Flashbacks, Skating injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16465994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagines/pseuds/imagines
Summary: Yuri hadn’t even noticed the pain at first. It was just one wrong note in a cacophony of scraped palms, bruised hips, and ankles rubbed raw—until the day he hobbled gasping off the ice, and Victor took one look at his white face and told him to sit down, and Yuri didn’t even want to argue. [Yuri gets hurt and is forced to take time off skating. J.J. keeps him company.]





	decent company

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Kings on Ice zine](https://kingsonicezine.tumblr.com)! Thanks to the mods and other participants for a wonderful experience. <3 This was the first zine I'd ever written for and I'm really excited to share this fic and its companion piece. :)

Yuri hadn’t even noticed the pain at first. It was just one wrong note in a cacophony of scraped palms, bruised hips, and ankles rubbed raw—until the day he hobbled gasping off the ice, and Victor took one look at his white face and told him to sit down, and Yuri didn’t even want to argue. Victor’s hands had flown over his laces, drawn his skates off as slowly as possible, and held each of his feet in turn as gently as one would a wounded butterfly. There was no visible lesion—not a single mark, not a bit of swelling, yet it felt like a red-hot spike had driven itself into the top of Yuri’s left foot.

A few days later, after a blur of doctors and scans, they’d put a cast on him and given him his orders: four weeks of crutches, and two months minimum before he was to even _think_ about skating. Victor drove him back to his apartment, settled him on the couch with some hot tea, and asked if he needed anything.

“Are you serious?” Yuri had asked. Victor sighed and said that was fair, and Yuri told him to go home because he wanted to be alone.

Which hadn’t been completely true, but there was no chance in hell he was gonna say _go home so I can cry into my throw pillows and get snot all over Potya._

 

He spends the succeeding weeks wallowing in an overabundance of despair. Sometimes he’s a complete idiot and looks himself up online, where all the articles say he’s lucky the injury happened after the Olympics. _Sidelined by a stress fracture, Yuri Plisetsky won’t be defending his world title this season. Still, he’s already made figure skating history in Beijing, breaking the Olympic record formerly set by Viktor Nikiforov_ —as if he’s supposed to look on the bright side, when he’s not allowed to do so much as a crossover.

They switch his cast for a boot, which is marginally less depressing, but the spark of hopefulness fades when he considers the two more weeks of crutches lying in wait for him.

 

One morning, finally, a distraction occurs.

_> > Hey, it’s J.J. I’m in Moscow for a few days, wanna chill?_

Yuri doesn’t care to mention that he already knows it’s J.J., having saved the number ages ago. J.J. would probably get all gooey and weird if he knew. And they’re not even friends, really, but—

_the hell are you doing in moscow??_

_> > Modeling contract :)_

_> > I’ll bring you copies of the pics!_

_no thanks._

_> > Don’t you wanna know what I’m modeling?_

_we both know you’re gonna tell me whether or not i ask._

_how soon can you come over?_

_> > Wow, you must be REALLY bored._

No shit. Sure, he skypes Otabek sometimes, but Otabek’s spending most of his time training. He’s got every right to expect he’ll make the podium at Worlds—especially with Yuri out of commission, not that either of them would say it out loud. So there’s not much to talk about once they get past “How’s your foot?” and “How’s practice?”

_bored enough to consider you decent company._

_> > I’m free tonight._

It’s not like Yuri’s doing much else besides lying on his couch. He texts J.J. his address.

 

J.J. arrives bearing pizza and roses, cold air clinging to his leather jacket. Yuri eyes the pizza hungrily, and the roses with concern. “What are _those_ for?”

“I thought you might want food.” J.J. sets his armful down on the coffee table so he can get his jacket off. Under it he’s wearing a black turtleneck that’s tight enough to leave little to Yuri’s imagination regarding his shoulders and biceps. Then he pushes the sleeves up past his elbows, and that’s just—

Yuri snaps his eyes to the pizza box, directing all his attention to opening it and selecting a piece. “The flowers, dumbass.”

“Oh, yeah. ‘Get well soon’ and all that. Do you have a vase?”

“No.”

“Coffee can? Mason jar?”

Yuri points to a shelf tucked in the corner by the window. “You could put them in one of those.”

“One of your _trophies_?”

“It’s not like I’m using them for anything.”

“This seems kind of sacrilegious,” J.J. says, once he’s got a repurposed trophy set up on the mantle with his bouquet tucked into it.

Yuri fights back a grin. “I think I like it better this way.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?”

J.J. sits down beside him, and while they eat, Yuri fills J.J. in on the lead-up to his injury and a couple of hilarious scandals at the Olympics that the media spotlight missed. J.J. doesn’t mention Isabella, and Yuri doesn’t mention the headlines after their breakup. All that speculation, all that fake concern—when all those reporters actually wanted was a story to sell.

When they’re all talked out, J.J. slings an arm across the back of the couch. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

“I think by now I’ve watched every movie that’s ever been made. Twice.”

“That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah, the most exciting thing in my life right now is that I get to try walking without crutches next week.”

J.J. wrinkles his nose. “Thrilling.”

“Right? And Victor’s threatening to take my quad sal out of my programs next season, since apparently that’s what did it.”

“You gonna listen to him if he does?”

Yuri bites primly into his pizza slice and doesn’t answer.

“Yuri.”

His shrug is violent. “We’ll see, okay? It’s my career, not Victor’s.”

“Yeah, but,” J.J. says, and here comes the unwanted advice—“I’m just not done kicking your ass, that’s all.”

“I _know_ I can win without it, that’s not—wait, _what_?”

“You heard me.”

Yuri points a breadstick at him. “Watch your back next season.”

“Rather watch yours.”

Yuri flings the breadstick at him; J.J. doesn’t even try to dodge. “Do you ever change?”

J.J. dusts crumbs from his shirt. “I try not to. Once I got a brand working for me, I stick with it.”

“What brand is that, exactly? Awkwardly-flirting loser?”

“God, you haven’t changed either.” J.J.’s hiding laughter behind his hands. It’s not a bad look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Junior Worlds,” J.J. says. “Your first time there. The first words out of your mouth were ‘Do I know you?’ and then you got mad at me for telling you I was from Canada.”

“Well, I could read your jacket! _You_ had so many gym selfies on Instagram, I wouldn’t have known you were a figure skater if I hadn’t run into you in the rink locker room.”

“You told me my username looked like a pop punk band.”

“Then you shouldn’t have put unnecessary punctuation in it. Also, your free skate was to ‘Carmen,’ and you thought that was _original_.”

“You kissed me after the medal ceremony.”

That shuts Yuri up. Silence stretches out, pounding in his ears, or maybe that’s his heartbeat.

J.J. clears his throat. “Sorry.”

“I wasn’t aware you still think about that.”

“I don’t.”

Yuri fixes him with a stare.

J.J. stares back. And swallows hard. “Much.”

“Mm.” Yuri drops his gaze to the upholstery, picking at a loose thread in the pattern.

“Maybe I should get going,” J.J. says, though he doesn’t make a move to stand.

“You could crash here,” Yuri offers. “It’s getting late.”

“The buses are still running.”

“The buses are always running.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you _wanted_ me to spend the night.”

“It’s like negative twenty degrees out. I’ve got extra bedding.”

J.J. turns to face him, lower lip caught in his teeth. “Yuri Plisetsky, exactly how bored are you?”

“Bored enough.” Yuri scoots closer to J.J., drawing his busted foot off the ottoman and onto the couch so he’s half lying down, half propped on his elbow.

J.J. grabs his shoulders and helps him maneuver ungracefully until he’s lying on his back across J.J.’s lap. “We can’t have that,” he murmurs. “Mind if I entertain you?” He slides his fingers into Yuri’s hair, curving his palm around the back of his head.

“Depends. What’d you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could reminisce.”

Yuri reaches up, scratching his nails down the back of J.J.’s neck. “About all the times I’ve beaten you?”

“Mm, no.” J.J. tightens his fingers in Yuri’s hair, lowering his head until his breath is warm on Yuri’s lips. “About you and me outside the rink that night. About my hands around your waist and your tongue in my mouth. Has anyone told you yet that ‘Let’s take this outside’ isn’t how you ask for a kiss?”

“You said you didn’t think about it much,” Yuri accuses.

“I’m thinking about you right now.”

“Well, don’t keep it a secret.” Yuri cranes his neck up, J.J.’s hand supporting his weight. “Show me what’s on your mind.”

He’s expecting a repeat of their one and only other kiss, a messy fumble in the shadows of a side parking lot, hidden from the white-flash scrutiny of cameras, avoiding the gentle glow of streetlamps that might have softened the moment.

“ _Thought you were gonna punch me there for a second.” J.J.’s laughing, back against the wall, Yuri’s fist wound into the collar of his jacket._

_Yuri touches the ribbon of the medal tucked under his own collar. His first international gold. “I don’t have a reason to punch you. Currently.”_

“ _So what are we doing out here?”_

_Yuri sets both hands on J.J.’s broad shoulders, gripping hard, digging his fingertips into muscle. J.J. doesn’t flinch, just keeps looking right into Yuri’s eyes, which is making him lose track of whatever scrap of a plan he’d thought he had. “I want—I—” He’s never kissed anyone, never really wanted to, but right now he feels taut and coiled and desperate to dispel the energy. And here, conveniently, is a boy who doesn’t blink at Yuri’s prickly disposition, who appears instead to appreciate his proximity._

_J.J. must understand whatever look is in his eyes, because he brings his hands up to Yuri’s waist, his touch too light to hold Yuri in place. It’s just encouragement. “You already got one thing you wanted tonight,” J.J. says. “Why not try for two?”_

_Yuri closes his eyes and goes for it. Probably he should have done those in opposite order, since his mouth lands halfway on J.J.’s chin, but he corrects his aim and J.J. doesn’t laugh at him or anything. He kisses J.J.’s bottom lip, then the top one, because you’re supposed to move your mouth around some, right? After that he’s kind of at a loss for what happens next, but then J.J.’s tongue is teasing his lips apart, and, wow, so that’s what all the fuss is about kissing._

“ _Jean-Jacques!” a woman calls, distant._

_J.J. takes his mouth off Yuri’s, which is a shame. “Damn, that’s my mom,” he says. “Sorry, I gotta go.”_

“ _Yeah, sure.” Yuri steps away, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets, not sure where to set his gaze now. “See you next season.”_

“ _I’m actually moving to seniors next year. So I’ll see you at your debut, Yuri Plisetsky.” J.J. flashes him one last grin and then takes his upsettingly blue eyes away to make his fans swoon, or whatever it is he does after competitions._

Yeah, it’s nothing like _that_ kiss. This time it’s slow, as if J.J. has endless time to spare to give Yuri’s lips soft bites and tender little sucks, the fingertips of his free hand tracing the line of Yuri’s jaw, his throat, his collarbones. Yuri feels as though he’s swallowed lava, the kiss burning a track right down into his belly, leaving him a wreck. He lies there under a rain of fire, offering up quiet noises into J.J.’s mouth.

J.J. lets him breathe too soon. “I hate to kill the mood, but if I don’t get to sleep soon, they’re gonna kill me at the studio for looking half-dead. But—I could come back after the shoot? If you think you’ll still be bored then.”

“I’d have to cancel my skydiving lesson,” Yuri muses. “And skip the charity ball, and drop out of the rock-climbing competition…” He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat, his mind flying ahead to J.J. in his apartment once again, this time with no obligations looming.

“You’re terrible, do you know that?”

“I do know that.”

“The brand is working for you.”

“Good, because I don’t plan to change.”

J.J. leans in again and nips at his mouth. “I hope you don’t. I like you just like this.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not currently active in YOI, but if you like Voltron: Legendary Defender, [hit me up on tumblr](https://belovedsheith.tumblr.com)! I scream about sheith a lot, started drawing again this month, and am also about to do Nanowrimo. :)


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